Oh, Sweet Mystery of Life (at last!) I Found You!
by D3adlyG33k'sMistress409
Summary: Summary: It has taken years, but Christine will finally have her revenge. Follow-up to one-shot: Dancing with Myself. Pure fluffy smut. Rated 'M'


Rating: Strict 'M' for mature content.

Summary: It has taken years, but Christine will finally have her revenge. Follow-up to one-shot: Dancing with Myself. Pure fluffy smut. Rated 'M'

A/N: This is dedicated to EMCLucky13. Your amazing review inspired this little follow-up to what was originally supposed to be a one-shot. I hope I've done justice to your praise!

And btw, thank you all for responding as well as you have to my little smutlette. I find all of your views and reviews a comfort and joy!

Final note: Think _Young Frankenstein_'s violin melody when you read Christine's _song_.

Oh, Sweet Mystery of Life (at last!) I Found You!

It had taken years. Longer than she would have liked really, but finally, her revenge was complete! And her masked husband, as of yet, remained none the wiser!

Arriving to their underground home, Christine immediately made for their bedroom chambers and began the strenuous process of taking down her coiffed hair, undressing, and washing the day away. She knew Erik was with their daughter singing their beautiful girl to sleep. Her heart swelled in remembrance of nights past.

Sometimes, Christine would join the pair of them, and their little family would tell stories until bedtime. And always, Arianna requested that Erik sing.

And Erik, bless him, could deny his little girl nothing.

Christine pressed a hand to her slightly rounded tummy. It had been three months since her last monthly, and she wondered if Erik had noticed. She knew as soon as the question formed that he had; the man didn't miss a trick.

She smirked slightly; except this _one_ time.

Mind firmly back on thoughts of revenge, Christine dressed in nothing but her black silken wrapper and made her way to Arianna's room. She had timed it perfectly; the sounds of Erik's song were heard as she approached the door. From past experience, she knew to find a comfortable spot when she listened to him sing, and a small bench had been placed outside the door for this very purpose.

There had been one too many instances of Christine falling to the floor in a heap after surrendering to the influence of Erik's compelling Voice as he lured Arianna to blissful dreams.

His song drifted to a quiet close, and with a quiet click, her husband had the door to Arianna's room closed and was standing before her slightly dozing form. The unmasked man drew her up towards him, and kissed her gently; awakening her from the trance-like state she was in to the feeling of being held in her his arms once more. "Christine, my love." She blinked and focused on his unmasked face, centering on his obsidian eyes.

"Angel." She looked at him fondly as her stomach chose that moment to growl.

"Ah. First things first it would seem." He scooped her up and carried her to the kitchen, depositing her gently at the table. He removed a crockery dish from the oven and set it before her as well as a glass of cold milk and a small slice of baguette. The absence of wine told her he had noticed her burgeoning condition as well.

Christine looked up from where she had dug into her stew with a relish to find him studying her with an amused scowl. "Your daughter is a veritable menace."

Scooping up a bit of the stew with baguette, she gestured towards him with the bread, "How come when she's a menace, she's _my_ daughter, but when she does anything resembling intelligent, she's yours?" Christine placed the morsel in her mouth and chewed theatrically, smiling as she did so.

"Very simple. It is proof-positive that she only inherited _my_ good attributes, my dear." He gestured to his ruined visage, and Christine rolled her eyes, "Whereas, she definitely inherited your innate sense for mischief. Curiosity should indeed be one of the seven deadly sins."

Christine's eyebrows went high. What could Ari have gotten into now? At almost five years old, she was incredibly smart—a gift she had definitely inherited from her father.

At four months, she had already begun to move away from gibberish to making whole words. By nine months, she had been using sentences with frequency and regularity, and Christine knew she had Erik to thank for this. Morning, noon, and night, while she had been working above, he had been down with Ari, talking and singing to her.

Their child also had inherited her father's innate ear for music. At three, Ari had begun short lessons with her father at the piano. At four, in imitation of papa, she had begun composing little songs for her dollies to sing to one another, and Erik had taken the best of them and made a music box for her birthday.

In addition to tutoring her in reading, music, and arithmetic, Erik was also allowing their little daughter to assist in some of his more sedate scientific experiments. Sometimes in the afternoons, Christine would break away from the politics of above and come home to find father and daughter immersed in

…well, one memorable encounter had Christine smiling into her stew.

Smelling a distinctly off-putting aroma as she journeyed downwards through the caverns, Christine had arrived home to find her family firmly ensconced in what she affectionately called, Erik's Laboratory; Ari standing on a stool, dressed in a little brown apron and small, black goggles with Erik beside her in shirtsleeves, black rubber gloves, brown apron, and goggles. As she had watched Erik poured the foul-smelling chemical into a beaker of what looked, to Christine, like water. She quickly looked away as a ball of liquid flame shot clear up to the stone ceiling.

"What on Earth?" she had exclaimed.

"Mama!" Their little chatter-box exclaimed, quickly hopping down from the stool and coming over to hug her leg excitedly, "Papa and I were testing a hyper— (_hypo_, corrected Erik)—hypo-the-sis."

"Oh, were you now?"She looked over at her husband with a bemused expression and arched an eyebrow. Watching as he removed his gloves, goggles, and apron, Christine picked up their little baggage, and making her way over to him, sat herself and Ari on the stool, drawing Erik into their collective embrace. His arms came around them both, and Christine breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of being home. "And what was proven?" she asked them curiously.

"Papa said acids and water don't mix. He proposed that we mix hydracoloric (_hydrochloric_ ,stated Erik) – that's what I said— hydro-caloric acid and water and see what happened."

"And what did we prove, Arianna?" Christine felt the vibrations of Erik's voice as he rested his chin and chest against her head and back.

Their little chatterbox giggled merrily, "A great, big explosion!" She proceeded to re-enact the scene, complete with a 'ka-pow' for effect that almost had her toppling herself and Christine off the stool. Erik's arms steadied them both.

Christine came back to the present with a start, a soft smile on her lips. "Where have you been, my dear? You've been gone for ages." Christine blushed slightly into her now luke-warm stew, bringing more of it to her lips to distract herself from her husband's knowing regard. Holding out her hand, she reached across the table and caressed his; he immediately placed his own in hers and finished telling the tale of their daughter's latest exploits.

"It seems _your_ daughter has a penchant for stealth as well as thievery…."

Christine was in stitches by the time Erik finished telling his tale, holding her stomach and wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, Erik! You cannot blame that behavior on me, Ange. I was a good girl before I met you. _A very good girl_." Giving him a saucy wink, Christine got up from the table, and wiggling her hips seductively, made for the sink with her dishes.

She moaned as she felt Erik come behind her and nuzzle up to her neck, the abraded scars of his face sending shivers of delight up and down her spine as he nuzzled and rubbed. He groped her breasts gently, giving the nipples little rolling flicks, and Christine pressed herself back into his burgeoning hardness even as he groaned in frustration. "I cannot, my dear. The music it calls, has been calling to me." –_all day _went unsaid. Christine heard the frustration evident in his Voice.

One of the sacrifices Erik had made when he insisted Christine return to the world above had been his single-minded pursuit of his projects. As much as he enjoyed his time with their daughter, he was with Ari day-in and day-out. They did not have a nanny except for the occasional sparse occurrence of asking Madam Giry, and Christine did not like to impose on Ari's god-mother too much.

And so, his music had become his mistress instead of his wife, and Erik had conceded this fact with a grace Christine never would have thought him capable. Nodding her head to show she understood, she gave his lingering hands where he held her sensitive breasts a small pat, and began to wash the dinner dishes.

He kissed her neck once more, lingering slightly to give her neck and arms gooseflesh, and laughing knowingly when she squealed and shivered, he made for the music room. Christine looked over at the clock on the kitchen mantel. Two hours. She would give him two hours, and then implement her revenge.

Those two hours passed quickly for Christine in a flurry of darning and mending and cleaning and organizing. The old maxim 'a mother's job is never done' rang especially true for her this night, and it was with a start, that she looked up and discovered that the time had come. Hearing Erik pause to scribble notations, Christine walked beside the almost-shut door with a pile of laundry humming under her breath.

It was an old folk melody her father used to play on his violin, and she had never shared it with Erik, at least not consciously. Down the hallway, she hummed.

Returning back by the door again with a stack of misplaced books and papers, Christine hummed a little louder and saw Erik look up, a peculiar expression on his face. She walked away, making sure the song carried over from the next room.

Giving full reign to her voice, Christine entered their sleeping chamber and began turning down the lamps until only one solitary candle remained. She sat at her vanity and began brushing out her hair, "La dee da, da dum. La DEE DA, da dum. La dee da. La de de da. La de Da, da dum." She looked up to find Erik poised beside her, the fires of passion burning bright in his eyes.

Looking down, she saw he was fully tented, and she gave a victorious smile never stopping in her singing of the entrancing melody.

Putting down her hairbrush with deliberate slowness, Christine got up from the vanity and dropped to her knees on the Aubusson rug. With movements borne of long practice, Christine slowly undid the placket of his trousers, rubbing his length through the fabric in artless caresses. His pants and undies fell down around his ankles with a thunk, and he was left in nothing but the buckles that held up his black dress socks and his customary white linen shirt.

She hummed quietly as she took him in hand, bathing the little bead of moisture at his tip over the purplish head with her thumb before she took him fully within in her mouth. She heard his breath draw in a gasp as his hands came to fist themselves in her hair. On she hummed her pleasure in the enchanting melody that absolutely drove him _wild_, working her lips, tongue and throat expertly in a manner that she knew pleased him best.

Christine was not exaggerating when she said it had taken her years to work on her revenge. She had started exactly like this, on her knees, humming her pleasure for her husband to hear: a small snippet of melody that Erik, in the throes of passion, would never remember or come to associate as being familiar.

From there, the snippet had progressed note by note and phrase by phrase into song. Every time she would perform fellatio, and it was often—for she got just as much enjoyment out of it as he— she would hum the little melody until he either stopped to penetrate her or reached completion through the act itself.

It was a slow, incremental process—for her husband was by nature a very suspicious man— but little by little, Christine began to notice her small diabolical plan bearing fruit. A snippet of the melody, and he would stop working to come over and give her a kiss. An entire musical phrase would have him in her arms for an hour or more before he returned to his mistress.

Last week, she had been completely immersed in cleaning the lavatory, absently humming the melody under her breath while she scrubbed, when she had felt Erik behind her, pressing his hardened staff into the folds of her dress. He took her from behind, right there on the marbled floor. As a matter of fact, her knees still bore the bruises; his passion a tangible thing.

She had decided to test her hypothesis fully tonight…and so far, it was working. She could feel his sac tense and tighten and knew it wouldn't be long now until his control snapped. Giving the vein at the base of his shaft a particularly luxurious suckle, Christine completed the musical phrase and started humming again, gently working the swollen and ever-tightening sac of flesh at his base with her hands.

On a moan, he drew her up by her hair to face him; his scarred visage awash in yet unfulfilled desire. "Christine. What you do to me." With a guttural groan, he had her backed onto the four poster with her legs spread above him in a 'V'. He plunged deeply, and she cried out, tightening her legs around his waist and moving in counterpoint to the frantic rhythm he set.

"No control. I. _HAVE_. NO. CONTROL." he grunted, and Christine arched as he punctuated each of these words with particularly vicious thrusts.

She threw back her head on a moan, "Then let go, my love." As she felt her desire begin to quicken and peak, she clenched him within her tightly, holding as taut as she could, drawing out both their pleasure. And with a strangled cry, he lost himself, pumping into her a frenetic pace.

He collapsed on her in a heap, and Christine intentionally gave him little aftershocks that had him moaning her name for mercy even as she ran her fingers over the abraded flesh of his arms and back in veneration. He removed himself from her depths and drew her so that she was resting on his chest. She snuggled, hearing the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat in counterpoint to her own as they both began to recover. He gave a jaw-cracking yawn, and grunting slightly, Christine drew the bedclothes around them both, knowing she had her husband to herself for the rest of the night.

As she drifted to sleep, Christine smiled—the veritable cat that ate the canary.

Revenge was sweet indeed.

Please review—Who knows? The smutlette you read next may be your very own.

DGM


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